Snowed In
by RafeDurk
Summary: A blizzard causes Elizabeth's plane to be diverted to O'Hare the day before Thanksgiving. A short written for the 'Holiday Reunion' theme at AHA.


Clutching her laptop bag close to her side, Elizabeth trudged off the plane with her fellow passengers. In front of her, she could hear a man complaining loudly of how his plans had been disrupted and she bit down on the surge of irritation. All two hundred passengers had had their plans disrupted when their plane had been forced to land in Chicago due to inclement weather. It's not like the pilot had landed the plane at O'Hare just to spite the irate man. His grousing only made it worse.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. There was no point getting worked up. Not about the annoying man, not about being stuck in an overcrowded airport on the busiest travel day of the year, and not about the prospect—nearly a certainty now—of missing Thanksgiving dinner with her family.

Even as she walked through the terminal, she could see the snow beginning to fall in big, wet flakes. All the televisions were tuned to news stations, and all the newscasters were discussing the Thanksgiving Blizzard of Twenty-Ten.

"Just great," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head and pulling out her computer. In two minutes she had booted up, accessed the airport's WiFi network, and brought up a list of nearby hotels. Twenty minutes later she closed both notebook and cell phone with a sigh; all the hotels within 15 minutes of the airport were booked solid with travelers who had foreseen this possibility. There were rooms available further away, but the road conditions were deteriorating rapidly. She had always been a careful driver, but after having been in a serious accident the previous October, she disliked being a passenger in other people's vehicles. Getting into a taxi, even in good weather, was not a possibility.

The only thing left was to find something to eat and maker herself as comfortable as possible on the terminal floor. Of course, all the restaurants were crowded as well. She passed by the bars, full of people attempting to drink away their frustration, and headed to a quiet (by the standards of the overpopulated terminal) restaurant. The place looked expensive, but at least the clients were not attempting to find solace at the bottom of a bottle.

The harried hostess asked her to wait a minute and headed into the subdued crowd. She returned a minute later, apologizing. "We don't have any open tables. There is one seat, but you would have to share the table. I already asked the guy, and he says it's fine with him."

"I think that's an offer I can't refuse." Elizabeth smiled, attempting to set the anxious woman at ease. "I appreciate the trouble. Thank you."

The man was hidden behind a newspaper when Elizabeth arrived and didn't seem to notice her arrival. Given the general confusion, however, she was not inclined to take this as an intention insult. He might just not have heard her. She set her laptop bag under her chair, taking the precaution of looping the strap over one of her legs, a habit she had picked up over the years of traveling through some not very nice areas of the world.

The man still had not looked up from his paper, but she felt she had to at least thank him for sharing his table. She cleared her throat politely, but the sound was lost in the noise of the crowd. Pitching her voice to reach him without adding unduly to the din, she tried again. "Thank you very much for agreeing to share your table with me. I appreciate it."

The man stiffened at her words. _Okay,_ she thought, _I guess he __**really**__ didn't want to talk to me. Well, two can play that game._ She reached for her menu.

Her hand stopped mid-motion when the newspaper lowered. "Elizabeth?"

If her chair hadn't been flush with that of the person behind her, she might have leapt to her feet. As it was, it took her several moments to realize that her mouth was open and she was staring.

She was sharing her table with William Darcy!

The last time she had seen him face-to-face, she had told him off, calling him an arrogant, self-centered bastard, among other choice phrases. He had sent her an email the next day, sharing his history with George Wickham and explaining his motivations in interfering between Charles and Jane. After reading through the message—three times—her anger towards him cooled. For the past few months she had felt ashamed at her harsh words. Even if he had been aloof and somewhat rude when they first met, he did not deserve the dressing down she had given him.

She looked around wildly then reached for her bag. "I—I should go. I'm sorry. Um. . .Happy Thanksgiving," she finished weakly.

"Don't go," he said, standing when she did, and touching her shoulder tentatively. He withdrew his hand quickly when she turned around, as if afraid she might slap him for his presumption. "Please, don't leave because of me. It'll take you ages to find another place to eat. And," his voice dropped so that she almost couldn't hear him, "and I would enjoy your company."

Elizabeth's quick tongue failed her, but she nodded and resumed her seat, busying herself with the menu.

Seemingly realizing that she was not about to speak, William cleared his throat nervously. "Were you heading back to Meryton for the holiday?" he asked politely.

"Yes. Mom always sets out a fantastic spread. She complains about the planning and the work involved for weeks, but we all know she loves it." Elizabeth smiled despite herself picturing the chaos in the kitchen, and the excitement of having the family together all in once place. Suddenly, she remembered her dining companion, and looked up to see him regarding her closely. To hide her confusion, she turned the question back on him. "And you? I'm guessing you were headed to New York to spend the day with Georgiana?"

He nodded, then laughed. "She doesn't cook, though. Georgiana's kitchen skills are limited to chopping vegetables, boiling water, and following the instructions on how to microwave frozen dinners."

"Do you order in or go to a restaurant that does Thanksgiving, or were you planning to spend the day with friends?"

William looked down briefly. Was he blushing? Surely not.

"Um, no. It's, um. . .well, I do the cooking. My dad used to make a big production of it, in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. We would plan the menu together and decorate the house. I think he did it so that he wouldn't miss Mom." He paused and took a sip of water, "Anyway, I kept up the tradition. Over the years I had learned a lot about cooking from him and Mrs. Reynolds—I don't think she ever really trusted Dad enough to give him free rein in the kitchen, so she always helped."

"But she leaves you alone in the kitchen? You must be very good for Mrs. Reynolds to cede control of her domain."

"Not particularly. But I haven't burned down the house yet, and I always make sure the kitchen is spotless before she returns."

"Ah. I can see how she would appreciate that."

A waiter arrived then to take their orders. Elizabeth spent a frantic minute re-perusing the menu when she was told they were out of lasagna. She settled on the pumpkin ravioli instead, thinking that it was at least somewhat seasonal.

They continued discussing their respective family traditions for some time, laughing at the random little things that make holidays special.

Elizabeth was tempted to linger after the meal; once the initial awkwardness had passed, she had very much enjoyed speaking with William. But there were so many people waiting to eat that she could not justify the indulgence. As soon as they had finished bickering over the check (he insisted on paying, but he eventually allowed her to leave the tip) they gathered their things and headed out into the throng.

A quick glance at the nearest television confirmed that things would get much worse before they would get better. The bank of screens directing travelers to their departure gates was surrounded by a crowd, though Elizabeth could not understand why. A single glance was enough to see that the status column was a solid line of "CANCELLED," in bright red letters.

"Well, I suppose Thanksgiving is a bust. The best I can hope for is to not be too sore after sleeping on the airport floor," Elizabeth said, walking down the terminal for lack of something better to do.

William was looking at her strangely again. "What?" she asked.

"I was trying to figure out the best way to convince you to share my hotel room tonight." He blushed and continued in a rush, "I don't want to imply that I expect anything to happen. I know I did not make the best of impressions last time we spoke, but I'm really not that presumptuous, I swear. Anyway, I booked a room just in case, and. . .well, we're both adults, capable of spending time together without, um. . ."

Elizabeth was strongly inclined to refuse his offer; it would be too complicated. On the other hand, the prospect of an actual bed was extremely tempting. Especially since her lower back and neck were already sore from her aborted flight. And she thought she knew him well enough to trust him. Especially given his embarrassment in even making the offer. She smiled tentatively, "Don't worry, I promise that I'll behave." _Oh, yes, _that_ will make things less complicated,_ she sighed inwardly.

William seemed a bit nonplused by her response.

She pulled her hands down her face and rubbed at her stiff neck. "Sorry. I'm tired. I shouldn't have said that. I should know by now that it's not a good idea to attempt to be funny when I'm this sleepy. Thank you very much. You're right, we are both capable of spending a platonic night with a member of the opposite sex. Lead the way."

Neither managed to make it to their original destinations for the holiday, and their night was not, um, entirely platonic. But neither regretted the change in plans very much. Not when one night together led to a real date, then another, and then became the relationship they each had dreamed of finding.

**XOX OXO XOX OXO XOX OXO XOX**

Elizabeth woke up and shivered. Her live-in bed-warmer was already awake, it seemed. She blinked the sleep away from her eyes and sat up looking for William. What caught her attention was not her lover but the swirling wall of white visible out the window.

"Oh, no. They said the blizzard was supposed to miss us," she moaned.

"What's wrong?" came the cheerful voice of William. He entered the room bearing a tray loaded with pancakes, orange juice, coffee and. . .

"You made me hot chocolate?" Elizabeth smiled.

"No I made _me_ hot chocolate. You get the coffee," William teased, but handed her the coveted mug after kissing her pouting lips. "Now what is this about not liking the snow?"

"It's just such a pain. I had planned to go Christmas shopping today. How can you see any good in a blizzard shutting down the city for the next few days?"

"How quickly they forget," he laughed, scooping up a fingerful of whipped cream from her cocoa and depositing it on her nose. "If it weren't for a blizzard, we wouldn't have been reunited, and we would certainly not be here right now. Since last year, blizzards have been my favorite kind of weather."

"Silly man," she chided as he kissed her nose to remove the whipped cream.

"I prefer 'romantic,'" he countered. "Besides, the timing couldn't be more perfect."

"How so?"

"It creates the perfect ambiance for this," he grinned broadly and produced a small black velvet box, opening it toward Elizabeth.

"Oh!" she cried, hastily depositing her mug on her bedside table and throwing her arms around his neck.

The requisite question was asked and duly answered, and breakfast was promptly forgotten.

A few hours later, Elizabeth roused from her nap. William was awake and running his hand down her arm languidly.

"I think I am beginning to see the value in a good blizzard," she said, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

"I am glad to see you have seen sense." He kissed the side of her neck and resumed his absent-minded caress. She fell back asleep with a smile on her face, listening to her fiancé singing under his breath, "Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!"

**XOX OXO XOX OXO XOX OXO XOX**

Author's Note: So, how do you like blizzards?


End file.
